


Faded Gloves

by Celestialmari



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, One Shot, Short, Short & Sweet, Spoilers, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestialmari/pseuds/Celestialmari
Summary: [Spoilers for Persona 5 and Persona 5 Royal] After the events of Persona 5 Royal, Akira Kurusu and Goro Akechi go out for a holiday stroll as a date. It’s cold and Akechi forgot his gloves, so Akira lets him borrow one of his.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: 21 plus akeshuake server yuletide 2020 event





	Faded Gloves

Goro Akechi never thought he deserved forgiveness, much less imagined he could ever be deserving of love. He wanted it, craved it like the air he breathed, but not once did he ever think he deserved it. Life was a series of disappointments. People who just weren’t good enough didn’t try hard enough, took too many things for granted. Those agonizing moments of pure disillusionment created a bottomless hatred for the world that slowly crept into Goro’s heart. It was a detestation so ingrained inside of him that when it finally faded nothing was left except an angry, empty shell devoid of love.

Yet, somewhere along those last couple of years, when he met a boy somehow so filled with tenderness and compassion, it was like the edges of his nerves which had long gone numb were finally shivering with excitement again. The revulsion inside his heart which had long turned to emptiness was suddenly filled with passion, confusion, and a complete inability to fully understand those emotions. 

The pieces had been set. The plan was in motion. There was no going back. Nevertheless, when Goro Akechi pulled the trigger, killing the love of his life and subsequent unsuspecting victim, Akira Kurusu, it was as though his soul had been violently ripped apart by the very same bullet. The frenzied, brutal part of him that loathed the world around him reveled in the action, knowing full well that his revenge was not far off, but the other part, the one revived by the very boy who lay dead in front of him, shattered. Overwhelmed and broken, it wept.

While even death cannot escape the hands of fate, the captivating Akira Kurusu was not some sort of damsel in distress. Even fate and death itself meant nothing to a boy who’s very being was built from centuries of hope and rebellion, and so, miraculously, Goro’s unchangeable choice was undone. Yet, good things never lasted in Goro Akechi’s life, and the next time he saw the enchanting Akira Kurusu, it ended again with another bullet and another death, this time his own.

Somehow, throughout all these choices and moments, time and life were both fickle. Actions that should have been set in stone were disregarded, and now the two boys walked through the snow on a wintery night in Shibuya. Larger forces at play had given them both another shot, and this time they were ready to take it. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Akira spoke softly, his voice slightly muffled underneath his thick winter scarf. “I worry a little when you’re so lost in thought.”

Goro hesitated before answering, watching as the tiniest of snowflakes gently landed on his boyfriend’s lush lashes. Goro’s hands were cold, nestled deeply in his pockets to escape the bitter winter air. He couldn’t help but wonder how he could have forgotten his gloves. He was normally so meticulous, keeping his life and everything in it so perfectly organized that even a missing glove could threaten to tear it all apart all over again. 

“I seem to have misplaced my gloves,” Goro replied with a small shrug. He feigned normalcy, but the ever clever Akira noticed a flicker of panic behind the emotional mask Goro always kept firmly in place. 

Memories of what now seemed like a past life drifted lazily through the boys’ minds. Deals and promises previously made hung heavily in the air. There was a time before everything had happened where Goro desperately held on to his hatred, refusing to admit to himself that the boy he had fallen in love with was also his sworn enemy, standing between him and the fulfillment of his plan. It was with a thrown ebony glove that he made his choice, a choice that had eventually led to cruelty and death.  
Yet, for Akira Kurusu, the inky black glove didn’t represent death, but rather it was a symbol of life. With compassion in his heart, Akira had held the glove in his palm on countless cold winter nights, waiting in hopes that the only person who ever made him feel truly known would return. Of course, Goro could never have known that, much like many of the lengths Akira had gone to save him.

“Oh,” Akira said, rummaging through his pockets. “You must be cold then.”

Memories of a palace that Goro never knew flickered through Akira’s head. There had been a moment back then when Akira’s whole world crumbled. A decision so unfair and significant for someone so young to make. It was nothing short of cruel to present a falsified perfection when the truth would never be as such. Nevertheless, the embodiment of free will itself, Akira Kurusu, could never have accepted a lie, choosing instead to take the risk of facing reality itself.

Goro watched adoringly as Akira pulled a familiar item out of his pocket. It was rare, even now, for Goro Akechi to fully smile, but when he noticed the worn black glove a truly genuine smile crossed his face, tearing his mask to pieces. He even felt a laugh bubbling up in him as he vividly remembered throwing it at the boy holding it now. It was so long since then, and so much had changed, yet seeing the glove again, and knowing that Akira had held onto it all this time filled him with a strange sort of nostalgic glee. 

“I’m sorry,” Akira chuckled, handing the glove to the other boy. “I only have the one.”

Taking the glove from Akira’s hand, Goro quickly put it on, leaving only one hand exposed to the winter cold. The fabric was warm and familiar, not really a knit winter glove like the ones he had left back in the attic of LeBlanc Cafe, but good enough. Akira, who had been walking with his hands in his pockets for the majority of their stroll, reached out to take Goro’s bare hand in his. 

“Thank you, Kurusu,” Goro responded, accepting Akira’s hand. The warmth of his skin helped only a little less than the glove. “I can’t believe you actually kept it all this time.”

The snow was starting to fall a little harder now. The tiny snowflakes that had been landing on their eyelashes and dusting their hair were now much larger, blown every which way by the wind. 

“I made a promise,” Akira replied, as though keeping a promise was the simplest thing in the world.

They almost missed each other in the end. If it hadn’t been for the pure happenstance that placed Goro in the same train station the day Akira was about to leave Tokyo, the two would have been separated forever. Akira would have believed the once Detective Prince to be gone, dead inside of a ship in the mind of a deranged madman. Somehow, even at that moment, the two remained inexplicably linked, the cruel string of fate once forcing one to kill the other now acting as a thread pulling them together. It was Akira, jumping off the train seconds before the doors closed, running full speed to throw his arms around the other boy that solidified their bond forever. 

“I’ve always admired your ability to keep promises,” Goro mumbled, the words coming out quieter than he wanted them to, risking the loss of them to the wind. “They come so naturally to you. It’s as though there’s no other option.” He paused, waiting for the wind to stop, even just for a moment. “It’s naive.”

Akira squeezed his hand, moving closer to block the cold snow from chilling their hands further. Huddling for warmth, the two boys silently made the decision to start heading back. At some point during their walk, the sunset sky had grown dark around them, daylight replaced by city lights. 

“It may be naive,” Akira started with a smirk, “but at least you’re warmer than you were before.” He placed a chaste kiss on Goro’s cheek, watching smugly as his boyfriend’s already snow-nipped face flushed. “See?”

Rolling his eyes, Goro chuckled, flustered by the simple display of affection. Any irritation Goro might have felt didn’t last long though, soon fading away in the falling snow. Truth was, that even now, outside in the dead of winter, with the only thing stopping his gloveless hand from freezing being the hand of Akira Kurusu, he was happy. 

When the small, run-down cafe finally came into view, the two rushed in. They took off their coats, scarves, and gloves, and settled in for the night. It wasn’t until later, their bodies wrapped around each other as the wee hours of the winter morning slowly approached that Goro awoke to a realization. He watched as Akira slept, breathing softly, the dark curls of his hair splayed across his pillow. It was instants like these, completely alone with his thoughts, when Goro allowed himself to really feel for a moment, a rush of emotions so fierce hitting him with such intensity that it felt like the room shook. It had been years since he even considered forgiving himself, for so long he thought he was too far gone. Yet at that moment, in the dingy attic of LeBlanc cafe, for just a few minutes Goro felt that yes, he was indeed deserving of love.


End file.
